


The Potions Master and the Buyer come to an understanding

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Down on his luck draco, Draco relies on his mother, Eventual Romance, Harry definitely thinks Draco should, Is this a risk worth taking?, M/M, Narcissa relies on Draco, Persuasive Harry Potter, Romance, Shy Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 05:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: Harry works at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. WWW needs new potions. Draco sells potions. Is that really all Harry has in mind? And can Draco handle anything more?





	The Potions Master and the Buyer come to an understanding

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the DracoHarry100 community, in 100 word chunks. New prompts each week!  
> http://dracoharry100.dreamwidth.org/

"I conduct all my business meetings here," Potter explained. Malfoy sat stiffly.

"It is disturbingly… open," Malfoy hedged from behind his briefcase, tightly clutched.

"Hannah's the publican now," Potter said with a reassuring smile. "This corner's expressly for business; the spellwork's superb. I assure you, we can be seen but not heard. That's why I strongly prefer this place."

"Oh," Malfoy said, "I had thought I understood this to be a lunch meeting." His belly grumbled loudly at that very moment, and Harry patted the table in front of the potions man, now blushing bright red under white blond hair.

* * *

Lunch appeared on the table and Potter smiled. "Definitely a lunch meeting," he agreed, picking up his fork. "I hope you like roast chicken?"

Malfoy stared at lunch with wide eyes. The delicious smells already rising from the potatoes and meat were making his empty mouth water, and he hoped he could tuck in properly without embarrassing himself. 

He looked up to check on the man he hoped would pay fairly for his new formulations, only to see that the man was cutting a large bite of lasagna, and already eating broccoli.

Malfoy tucked in without allowing himself another thought.

* * *

Not until Draco was more than halfway through his meal did Potter ask to see his papers. Even then he read silently as Malfoy finished.

It was as though Potter knew how long it had been since Malfoy'd eaten pleasantly in public. It wasn't that Malfoy didn't get enough to eat - when he remembered to leave his laboratory, that is. He still had enough money to feed himself. And Mother. They were simply both on… diets.

"So," Potter said quietly, as Malfoy finished his potatoes, "George and I are honestly quite interested in this potential new line of business."

* * *

Malfoy launched into the blandest version of his sales speech, but Potter interrupted.

"I've read it. George and I don't need a sales pitch."

He looked down at the remains of his lasagna, switching abruptly from confident to blushing.

"What we require," Potter mumbled to his water glass, "is tests."

Malfoy refused to be embarrassed. "I've several vials for you to share with… Miss Weasley. Sexual aids should of course be tested out. I had every expectation…"

Potter held up his hand.

"Not Ginny," he said, turning fiercely red but now staring right into Draco's eyes. "I should prefer… you?"

* * *

Malfoy stared at Harry in undisguised shock. A fork banged to the floor.

Harry blushed brighter, working not to look away.

"I," Malfoy began ineffectively. Then, "You?" But again, no coherent thoughts emerged for Harry to rebut, discuss, or encourage.

"We…" came Malfoy's third attempt, and this time Harry tried to smile, to reach across the table, to take Malfoy's alarmed hand into his own.

"Loo!" Malfoy said abruptly instead, and, dropping multiple items to the floor with varying clanking or fluttering noises, he made a run for it.

Harry's primary reassurance? Malfoy left all his papers and briefcase behind. 

* * *

Eventually Harry tracked Malfoy back to the Leaky's loo. 

"I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds," Harry said miserably. "I only wanted, I mean, I just hoped…"

Malfoy said nothing, staring at the floor, his face still flushing blotchy red. 

Harry desperately wanted to fix this. "Obviously, it was inappropriate," he finally managed.

Malfoy still said nothing whatsoever, wringing a handkerchief nervously between his fingers as though he had no idea it was there.

"I had no, I mean, I'm sorry. I offended you, and…."

"No," whispered Malfoy, looking unnerved, yet oddly determined. "It's only… could we discuss this… elsewhere?"

* * *

"What," Harry said, trying to laugh, "you don't want to talk about fucking me into the mattress, with your newly invented sex aids, in the men's loo of the Leaky Cauldron?"

Stricken, Malfoy looked at the door. "Those privacy spells on the corner tables. Are they in here, too?"

"No!" Harry said, horrified. He was mucking this attempted seduction up beyond imagination. (And oh, he had been imagining this. Imagining and fantasizing and wanking. For several months now. The owled business proposal from Malfoy had precipitated a long overdue talk with George. Who apparently knew _absolutely nothing_ about seducing blokes.)

* * *

"Can we meet in your laboratory?" Harry asked, trying to salvage the business side of this relationship. "You can _Apparate_ from here. I'll be there in ten minutes?"

"Yes." Malfoy said, regaining a bit of calm. "Yes. Thank you. I'll… make tea?"

"Sure," Harry said, feeling relief wash over his hot face and frozen hands. "Brilliant. I'll settle the bill. Pay Hannah. Gather all your papers, your briefcase. Please don't hate me."

Malfoy looked shocked. "Potter. You saved my life, testified for Mother…. I couldn't." He swallowed visibly, patted Harry's hand. "I'll see you in my office in ten. Tea."

* * *

Harry deliberately took his time gathering everything. He methodically picked up every piece of paper, checking the floor and table for misplaced things. He found a sales flyer under Malfoy's chair and was glad for his caution.

He even politely finished the last two bites of his lasagna.

The necessary labor calmed him.

When his breathing felt normal and his hands were no longer ice, he packed the briefcase, pretended to casually saunter back to the front counter, and paid the bill. 

He even made sure to pocket the receipt for the bookkeeper.

Then, finally, he _Apparated_ to Malfoy's office.

* * *

"Potter," Malfoy said, with a Dumbedore calm. He rose from behind his desk and smiled. Extended a hand. Harry shook it for the appropriate length of time and the two men sat on opposite sides of Malfoy's desk.

Then they both began to speak simultaneously.

"I must apologize," Malfoy began, just as Harry barreled out his own "Merlin, Malfoy, I feel so stupid…"

They both laughed. Just a little, but it was enough to break some ice.

Harry relaxed in his chair and spread out his hands. "Ok, basically, I'm an idiot and I'm sorry. How shall we do business?"

* * *

Malfoy leaned forward. "You were right to suggest that I be your test subject. I'm the one to explain what my potions are doing, and if there is risk, _I_ should take it. So, I have a proposal. Roll up your sleeve, and we'll start small. All right?"

"Certainly," Harry said, trying hard to sound professional and calm. He rolled up both sleeves and waited.

Malfoy moved his chair around and, following the other man's gestures, Harry positioned his chair to face Malfoy's. Malfoy had already rolled up his sleeves, and he took a gorgeous purple potion from his desktop.

* * *

"This potion," Malfoy explained, "is topically applied." He opened the bottle slowly, and held it upside-down. Harry watched, striving for patience. Eventually a viscous glop dripped, rainbow-slow, onto Malfoy's right hand. 

Harry expected Malfoy to rub the stuff in with his own hand, but he reached for Harry's right and clasped it firmly.

Harry gasped. Holding Malfoy's hand, he felt certain, would have engendered an electric shock into his spine no matter the circumstance. But the purple potion seeping into his bloodstream, warmed by the other man's touch, was turning Malfoy's charisma and Harry's desire into a deep, battering, throb. 

* * *

Harry's cock was expanding so rapidly it hurt, and he was forced to change his posture. Embarrassed, he sought Malfoy's eye, but Malfoy wasn't looking at Harry's crotch at all. Instead, he was focused intently on Harry's face.

Harry could drown in those eyes. He tried to remember that this was a business deal in progress, but all he could think about was the connection between their hands, their eyes, and suddenly - their souls. The potion was warming his skin, but it was also lowering inhibitions, removing filters. 

Any moment now he was surely going to say something horribly inappropriate. 

* * *

"So," Malfoy croaked out, "you can feel that this one acts quickly. It is, ah, rather strong, and should be well labeled. A little, ah, a little goes a long way."

 _I want so badly to kiss you,_ Harry thought desperately, but he couldn't interrupt.

"Were we to, ah, be touching in ah, more places," Malfoy said, still staring deeply into Harry's eyes, "the warmth would extend further. Everywhere we touched we would feel this, ah… power."

Harry knew he ought test this claim, so he took Malfoy's other hand in his own. It was safer than what he wanted.

* * *

Unable to help himself, Harry interlaced his hands with Malfoy's. The potion did exactly as promised. Warmth flooded in. 

Tearing his attention from beautiful grey irises, Harry gazed at their interlaced fingers. 

"Yeah," he said, feeling foolish.

"Are you pleased so far?" Malfoy asked? He was blushing now. "It was something of a labor of love, but it was also, well, I need to sell this."

"We want to buy it," Harry said. It was nothing like what he wanted to say. "Can you end this effect so we can test the next? Otherwise, uh, I might just pass out."

* * *

Draco quickly pulled his hands from Harry's. "If we drink enough water it should dissipate." He stood, so Harry stood as well, and soon they were standing in a lab kitchen drinking large glasses of cold well water. 

After half the glass, Harry felt his skin, and senses, returning to normal. Glass emptied, he shook his shoulders out. He saw Draco _not_ looking, and worked not to frown.

"Next?" he said, feeling overwhelmed, but still curious.

Draco raised an aquamarine vial. "Softness Solution," he murmured. "Combined with a cushioning charm, it can make anything as cuddly-soft as a Pygmy Puff."

* * *

"Limitations?" Harry asked firmly, trying hard to stay all business. 

"If the charm is badly applied, or weak, Softness Solution does nothing. And even perfectly applied, Softness only lasts about four hours. If lovers were to fall asleep on something normally prickly, they couldn't sleep through the night there."

"That's it?" Harry asked. 

Draco nodded, confident. 

"Show me," Harry said. When a large glop of Solution and a strong charm turned an itchy, cheap, woolen blanket into a nap waiting to happen, Harry couldn't help himself. "It _is_ like a Pygmy Puff!" His face heated. _Sounding intelligent,_ he chastised himself.

* * *

"And the third product?" Harry asked. He could get through this. They were almost done!

But Draco coloured and looked away. "I'll need to withdraw that one," he muttered. "Testing… went badly. After I owled you the packet."

"Oh?" Harry said, now nervously curious. 

"Yes, I spilled it, my Pygmy Puff ate some, and she…." He stopped speaking.

"Did she die?" Harry asked, horrified.

"Yes," Draco said, and a tear escaped down one cheek.

"Oh Draco!" Harry exclaimed helplessly. Then, since he didn't know what else to do, he gathered a snuffling Draco into his arms for a warm hug.

* * *

Draco allowed Harry to coddle him for longer than Harry'd expected, but he still wasn't _quite_ ready when Draco started to stiffen and step away.

"Er," Harry said. "I've no idea what to say."

Draco blew his nose quietly. "You don't have to. Thank you for… reaching out. T'was… nice." He blew his nose louder this time.

Harry stared at his feet; seemingly forever, until he realized what he needed to say. "These are perfect for Wheezes. George and I want to sell them. Exclusively. Before another company snitches them."

"Very welcome news," Draco said, giving Harry a watery smile.

* * *

"Shall we Floo over to Wheezes and sign paperwork?" Harry asked. "George is there."

"After you," Draco said graciously.

The pre-approved legal paperwork took almost no time at all, and George - after he saw Draco's red-rimmed eyes and well-used hankie - was uncharacteristically discreet. 

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy," he said when it was all over, and showed Draco to the Floo.

"Can I… see you home?" Harry asked, feeling clumsy. "Perhaps we could… celebrate. A little? I know we had… a moment, but I admit, I rather feel we've caught the snitch."

Draco smiled. Looked down at the floor. And nodded.

* * *

"No," Harry said again, this time far more firmly. "Unacceptable. When I made the reservation, you promised a _private_ table."

The maître d' tutted and frowned, but finally sat them at an elevated table on the back wall, nestled behind a fancy paper screen. 

"Well," Harry said when they were alone with their wine and dinner menus, "We've really achieved something tonight!"

"The table?" Draco asked, disoriented. 

"That too, I suppose," Harry said, looking pleased. "Though I was trying to talk about our new business agreement. We should order a bottle of really excellent wine and toast our new partnership!" 

* * *

It ended up two bottles of wine. Frog legs. Enormous steaks. Asparagus risotto. For dessert they shared an enormous slice of Gateau Au Chocolat Noir Et Orange.

By the time they were done eating, hours had passed and they weren't even tipsy anymore, merely stuffed "to the gills."

"I shall have to waddle to the Floo," Draco said appreciatively, patting his belly - round under his robes.

"I did say I wanted to achieve something, didn't I?" Harry laughed, patting his own gut. "Not really the end I was aiming for, though," he said, and the look he gave Draco smouldered.

* * *

Draco swallowed once, sipped his water. "Perhaps not," he allowed, "nonetheless, I think this has been…" he paused, seeking the perfect word. 

Harry seemed eager to hear what he was trying to say. 

What he was _trying_ to say, of course, was he knew Harry wanted to date him. He was quite interested, too. Life was difficult right now, however. Draco had a mother to care for, a business to grow, a list of responsibilities. 

Worse, that a lot of people who loved Harry's every molecule - hated Draco with an unholy passion.

Draco clasped Harry's hand. They both smiled. 

* * *

"My house?" Harry swallowed. "I've got this firewhiskey. I hear 1837 was a good year."

Tempted (1837 was an _excellent_ year), Draco shook his head sadly. "Mother expects me."

He _Flooed_ from L'Atelier. He wouldn't normally risk so, but Harry wouldn't let anyone follow before he closed his Floo. 

He gave Mother the happy news. "Sold!" Then insisted she eat both her dinner and his own, which she'd kept carefully charmed. He kept her company while she ate, but couldn't so much as drink tea. "So full," he smiled.

After dinner, Mother retired to listen to the wireless. Draco wrote.

* * *

Harry,

I would be a fool not to understand that you have an interest in me. Sadly, I would be a larger fool to encourage you further. You cannot know how flattered, pleased, _tempted_ I am. Anyone would be off their feet from the attentions you showered upon me today. But I must solidify my prudence, my forbearance.

Simply put, I cannot afford to bring such attention to myself and Mother. 

You are watched. Finally (mostly), I am not. 

You are lauded, loved and - I'm sure, desperately misunderstood. I am loathed and belittled and yes - I assure you, desperately misunderstood.

* * *

Draco reread the note. It wasn't enough, but just this had drained him so badly… he wished he had that firewhiskey. He should finish writing, but he didn't think he could express anything else tonight. If he didn't send it right this minute, he might not send it at all. Then where would he and Mother be?

Sighing, Draco called down his elderly owl and signed quickly, before he changed his mind. Then he posted the letter and went to bed with a heavy heart.

Harry would be a wonderful boyfriend. To one who wasn't desperately staying out of sight.

* * *

Despite his distress, Draco slept heavily. Yesterday's business lunch and celebratory dinner meant he'd eaten better than he had for weeks, and drunk more alcohol than he had for some years. 

More, he'd sold two potions, at his asking price, and guaranteed himself enough work to keep himself and Mother housed, fed and clothed for as long as the contract held out. So, at least six months. Hopefully far longer, if refusing Potter's advances didn't scuttle their business deal.

He didn't think it would, though. Harry had been thoroughly chivalrous throughout, even when the subtext of their conversation had veered.

* * *

Harry stayed up half the night, half rereading his letter, half pacing his house to argue with the imaginary - highly persuasive - Draco in his head. 

"Draco, I'll keep you safe!"  
"Harry, I'm an adult. Besides, who wants his boyfriend to have to also be his bodyguard?"

"We can hide that we're dating!"  
"Is that really how you want to live?"

"Don't you want a better life?"  
"Yes, but I can't owe you for it. I have to do it on my own. Through work, not love."

Eventually, Harry slept, but only after vowing they would soon have a _real_ conversation. 

* * *

When Draco went down to breakfast, Mother surprised him: still there, though the sun shone on her roses and her breakfast was long eaten.

"Mother," he said quietly, and ate his toast and egg. When finished, he knew better than to stand. He had much to brew, but Mother wouldn't sit waiting out of laziness. She had something to say.

"You were with Mr Potter a long while," she finally said. Draco nodded. He wouldn't lie to Mother. Even though he was already uncomfortable.

"Was it… all business?"

Draco hesitated. He could claim that, but no, it certainly had not.

* * *

Sighing, Draco tried to explain. Mother listened intently. Draco felt a need to justify his decision to Mother in a way he would with no one else. She wanted him to be happy, he knew. She wanted it more than anyone in the world. Even more than he did.

"So, you see," he finally said, feeling as though he'd apologized for everything and meandered shamelessly through a multiplicity of barely related topics, "that's why I felt it best to owl Harry and gently put him off."

"Darling," Mother said. "Opportunity has knocked. Why have you refused to answer the door?"

* * *

Draco stared, too surprised for words. Harry… an opportunity? Avaricious! Exactly his fears from the screeching world! And here Mother, speaking out loud!

Unperturbed, Mother took silence for assent. "When you two were out and about, did anyone badger you? Threaten? Insult?"

They'd been ignored at the Leaky. Perhaps the spells? But that wouldn't explain how Harry's sexual outburst in the loo attracted no attention. 

Then there was George Weasley. A notorious prankster, yet he'd been all business.

At the restaurant the maître d' had tried to show them _off_ , not hide or castigate.

"No," he indicated, shaking his head slowly.

* * *

Ignoring Draco's deliberate look of horror, Mother continued. Every sentence made it worse.

"No injuries, no insults. The restaurant wished to showcase you together! Your potions are selling well. The obvious next step, my son, is an advantageous match."

Mother stood, gazing placidly out at the groomed, monotonous lawn. "We have much to offer, despite… everything. Until now I assumed your preference for men would be a disadvantage, or at least, something you would need to put aside. But now," she turned and smiled toothily, "I see it is quite to our lucky benefit!"

Mute and embarrassed, Draco simply stared.

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry fretted. He needed to take this romance thing step by step, he was reasonably certain. It seemed what Hermione would advise, had he the courage to ask. But he couldn't for the life of him figure out any plans other than appearing on Draco's doorstep and… well, whinging. He didn't _want_ to whinge, but every time he attempted to role play a conversation - usually with the potted Dracaena - he found himself starting to beg.

It was a bit embarrassing, honestly.

Eventually, he found himself at his desk, surrounded by crumpled balls of paper with half-written owls to Draco.

* * *

"Mother," Draco said slowly. "I thought you wanted my happiness?"

"Draco," Mother said, horrified, "of course I do! How could you ever think otherwise?"

Prudently not answering the question, Draco stood as well, and walked to the window to stand next to her. "Mother, I can't treat Harry like an … opportunity. I would feel… venal."

Smiling indulgently, Mother smoothed Draco's hair from his forehead. "Oh darling, I've spoiled you so terribly. All out of love, I assure you. Of course I want you to be happy. I thought you were starting to understand the sacrifices necessary for true happiness?"

* * *

Draco stared, mute. Mother continued.

"I was so proud when you studied and earned six N.E.W.T.s. Then I was proud when you became Coerjion's long distance apprentice. A third time I was proud, when you completed the first steps toward your Mastery and could cut ties with Coerjion. And yesterday you sold potions to war heroes!

"In all this, you've been dedicated, worked hard, sacrificed. Done whatever you must in order to take care of us; in the short and long term. I thought you understood what came next, but I was silly not to discuss it with you, mm?"

* * *

"Son, happiness is neither instant gratification, nor self-absorbed. Unless you're a toddler!" Her eyes flashed.

"Adults understand the familial, interconnected, complexity of happiness. You won't be happy if I'm miserable and there's something you could do to help. That's true about everyone you love." She caught his eye, patted his hand.

"You won't be happy laying about, doing no work and accomplishing nothing. 

"And you won't be happy if you've no one to share your love. So, frankly my son, this potential association with Harry Potter is perfect. And I fully expect you to pursue it."

Draco swallowed once, hard.

* * *

Narcissa saw she'd not yet convinced him. Walking to the sofa, she tried again. 

"Mr Potter isn't interested in you because he wants to save you, feed you, or pay me for lying to Voldemort. Mr Potter didn't ask you to dinner out of pity. Mr Potter sees your face and finds you exciting. Mr Potter sees what you've accomplished in your studies, in your laboratory, and finds you exciting. Mr Potter could pursue a romance with anyone in England. He pursues you. Take the compliment. Don't insult me further by pretending that my perfect son doesn't deserve such attention."

* * *

Horrified, nervous, Draco simply stared at Mother. He'd no idea how to respond politely. Mother was asking _far_ too much. How could she not see? They were managing fine. To which he largely credited their intentionally low profile. Selling his potions to war heroes instead of attempting to bring them to market himself was part of that! He'd never imagined that, by doing so, he would attract the romantic attentions of the most eligible bachelor in Wizarding Britain. Demurring was critical. Even if Harry Potter was everything Draco'd ever dreamed.

He couldn't afford bravery. He had to protect his _Mum_.

* * *

But as Draco stared into Mother's dear, blue eyes, he remembered the commandment she had embroidered onto pillows and tapestries for him even before he had learned to read. "Honor thy father and mother" had been instilled in Draco's mind, morals and memory from infancy. "Honor thy father and mother;" his first and most important life lesson.

He'd thought he was honoring Mother by caring for her, keeping her safe, being the man of the house while father was detained. But what if, by ignoring her explicit instructions, he wasn't just suggesting he knew best, he was explicitly _dis_ honoring her? 

* * *

Draco swallowed once, stared at the rug under his feet. He was getting a stress headache, but resisted the call to name that and escape to his rooms. Mum hadn't enjoyed chastising him. She deserved his full attention and respect.

"I hear your perspective," he said slowly, "but I worry that the publicity of dating someone so prominent would draw negative attention. We have shied from public attention, since the acquittal. So little time has passed. The papers still excoriate anyone they wish, such as…" his voice dropped to a whisper, "Father."

"Draco," Mum snapped. "You are not your father!"

* * *

"Does the Prophet know that?" he asked, voice broken. "The public? The Ministry? I want to honor you, Mother. And to be happy! But I must take this post-war world seriously."

"Son," Narcissa said, "You have taken it all far too much into account. Now I insist you obey your own needs."

She saw his face and interrupted. 

"Do not say your needs are mine. That is a wall to breach, for my needs include more than food, shelter. I need to see my son happy again. I need you to restore yourself to full participation in your own life!"

* * *

"Mother," Draco began. But he stopped, overwhelmed. He stroked the softening cloth of the aging sofa and stared into the middle distance between his feet and fireplace. 

"Since the war ended," Draco tried again, this time not even trying to look on his mother's face, "and our acquittals, life has felt like you and me against the world. I have structured all my decisions with our survival in mind. I ceased cultivating friendships. I studied harder, and with less supervision, than I would have thought possible. I worked long hours into the night so many times that I…" Draco paused. 

* * *

"But you know all this, already, Mother, and I do not require your - or anyone's - sympathy. It is simpler than pity. I now realize I should have carefully determined a long term goal. Or perhaps a few goals, ways for the two of us to turn together when we met a challenge."

Draco still avoided his mother's eye.

"Instead, I merely plodded forward on, into the unknown, doing what seemed most logical at that time. At most, I have seen ahead only three moves on the chess board. Somehow, despite that, things haven't yet fallen to pieces at our feet."

* * *

Draco looked around. Home had changed. He and Mother had closed up the dungeons. The North wing. The top floor. Layered spells on father's study to prevent accidental entry.

Mother had spelled their ancient upholstery with different colours and patterns. Spells were free; new furniture was expensive. They couldn't _Reparo_ everything they needed, but nothing looked so shabby that a visitor would notice. Not right away, at least. 

A huge old Manor was an expensive place to maintain, even with magic at one's disposal. But so far, they were managing the present. It was the future that still frightened him.

* * *

Pausing, Draco tried to imagine a path forward that incorporated his own anxieties along with his mother's sudden new, sunny optimism. He arrived at nothing that fit with his understanding of his and Mother's true place in their post-war, Lucius-free, skin-of-the-teeth acquitted world. In a word: precarious.

Frulie, their last, tottering house-elf entered the room. She, too, had nowhere else to go. "Harry Potter knocks on the door," she reported.

"Marvelous," Mother smiled, as Draco simultaneously blanched and glanced involuntarily at the stairs, hoping for an escape. Out loud, however, he requested a tea tray and rose to admit Potter.

* * *

"Please enter, Mr Potter," Mother said, floating toward her ever-so welcome guest. "Draco and I were just reflecting on your recent business dealings." She gestured toward the most comfortable chair and Potter walked toward it, but did not sit. "I hope you know how pleased I am that his products satisfied your needs."

Frulie entered with a tea tray, which she placed on a small, central table. Then she bowed and vanished.

"I am sorry to be such a poor hostess," she wafted toward the door, "but I'm afraid a previous responsibility calls." She inclined her head slightly, then vanished.

* * *

Though Mother had left, Draco nonetheless felt the weight of both her stare, and her expectations. Swallowing at the lump in his gullet, he gestured at the discreetly chipped tea tray. "Tea?" he asked. "Frulie's apricot cakes are quite nice." He tried not to think about how expensive it was to feed a guest. Thanks to Wheezes, he and Mother could afford to entertain occasionally. Especially the man who had paid their new, small security.

"I didn't come here to drink your tea, Draco," Potter said, his eyes wide, sincere, entreating.

"I know," Draco sighed. "But please, drink some anyway?"

* * *

Potter's eyes begged for the world, but he politely took a cup of black tea and sat without drinking: stiff-backed at the edge of Draco's favourite chair. 

Draco studiously made up his cup of tea, knowing he was stalling, trying to choose his next words with wisdom and foresight.

Potter clearly wanted to jump in and fill the air with arguments, entreaties, his own - unassailable? - logic. But instead, and Draco had to admit he was impressed, Potter waited.

"Had Mother not left us alone," Draco said working to keep his voice even and firm, "I might have phrased this differently…."

* * *

Draco paused, swallowed a sigh; swallowed a gulp of tea, hoping it would take the lump in his throat with it. "A man in my position," he began again, "has conflicting priorities to consider. In my case those were what I think is best, versus what I wish could be. These are both long term considerations."

Potter's eyes widened at Draco's use of the past tense. 

Draco flattened his shoes on the floor, lengthened his spine, and lowered his teacup. 

"In addition, today I learned of my mother's… inclinations. They are, shall we say, tipping the balance in your favour."

* * *

"I owe my mother… everything," Draco continued, barely able to look even as high as Harry's cheekbones. "Frankly, you have expressed similar sentiments regarding her. In court, no less." 

Draco raised his teacup eagerly, but nonetheless limited himself to one genteel sip. It was the perfect temperature now, and he wistfully imagined draining the entire thing in one draught; but he knew would never do anything so gauche. Not even if he were alone.

"Mother's opinion, Mother's preference, these matter to me." Draco finally lifted his eyes and locked his gaze with Harry's. "But those are not all that matters."

* * *

"What else matters?" Harry whispered when Draco didn't continue.

"I have to feel… that I'm making careful, intelligent decisions," Draco said, staring at the floor. "I need to take everything into account: the past, the present, the future. Financial concerns. Safety concerns. Mother. The Manor. My time. My… my heart."

Draco took another sip of tea. Another. He put down his teacup and chose a tiny biscuit. Finally, he looked to Harry.

"I want to say," Harry tried, clutching his delicate porcelain cup as though it were an anchor, "that I intend to treat you like the prince you are."

* * *

Draco disagreed. "Not a prince," he said. "A reviled, cautious businessman, trying to overcome mistakes. Father believed himself so smart," Draco sighed, "but he bankrupted us, paying court to Riddle. Father destroyed our reputation. He got sent to… Azkaban. The only beneficial thing he did was upraise my education. And, thanks to Snape, I learned enough in potions to support myself and Mother." Draco nodded toward Harry, to acknowledge his role in Draco's new financial success. 

"Mother wants me to make an advantageous match. And while her logic feels sound, it also feels… optimistic."

"What about," Harry hesitated… "cautious optimism?"

* * *

Draco raised one eyebrow, but listened. 

"We both want to explore a… romance?" Harry attempted, and blushing slightly, Draco nodded.

"But you fear bad publicity, related fallout?"

Draco nodded again, more firmly.

"Your mother thinks we should?"

Draco blushed, but nodded. He picked up his tea to hide his pinkened face, but it had gone tepid. He bit off a sigh and put it down.

"So a smart move might be to try another date, but stay out of the public eye," Harry stated. He stood up and paced. "Dinner in Dublin?" Harry suggested. 

Without thinking, Draco nodded once more.

* * *

"Really?" Harry asked, hope shining in his eyes. "Scratch that," he laughed. "I don't mean to give you a chance to back out!"

Draco laughed. "You might deserve an award for patience and perseverance," Draco agreed, "but I'm not going to back out on you now. Dinner it is. In Dublin."

"I'll pick you up at seven?" Harry said, looking like a weight had been lifted from his back. "I can arrange a portkey."

"Lovely," Draco agreed. He rose from his chair and gestured gently. Harry had to go, before Draco's heart pounded right out of his chest. 

"Seven?"

"Seven."

* * *

Once home, Harry Flooed Seamus. "Can I get a reservation in your sister's restaurant?" 

Dennis Creevey arranged an encrypted portkey, and Harry picked it up minutes later; offering a chocolate frog and a huge grin.

Harry spent ninety minutes trying to choose an outfit, but with his nicest clothes on the floor in heaps, eventually called Lavender's shop to sell him something better.

Hermione was still the only one who could tame his hair.

Neville arranged bouquets: one for Draco, one for Narcissa.

At two to seven, Harry stood in front of his Floo, exquisitely dressed, staring at his watch.

* * *

While Harry didn't trip as he emerged, he did have to spell soot off the flowers. Thankfully, Narcissa didn't mind. She produced two vases and sent the men off with a smile. The portkey worked smoothly, and the restaurant smelled even better than it looked.

"I have to confess, Draco, while I don't think we'll make the paper, all my friends already know about this date."

"All?" Draco's eyebrow still did that thing that made Harry want to fall to his knees and cut to the chase. 

"Bought this from Lavender's."

Draco snickered softly, but all he said was, "Ah." 

* * *

Draco touched the cloth of Harry's new sleeve, though; and his finger lingered a bit longer than necessary. Then he leaned over as they waited in the vestibule of the fanciest magical restaurant in Dublin. (Siobhan had found their last minute table, but they still had to wait to be seated, like anyone else.) Draco beckoned just a bit with one crooked finger, and - heart beating faster - Harry leaned closer to listen. "I buy plenty of my suits from Lavender, too." was all he said, though, and Harry had to force himself to only pout internally, where Draco couldn't see.

* * *

It had been years since Harry had been on a date with someone who knew Harry was already smitten. It put him in a corner he hadn't anticipated. 

Draco… smiled. Smugly. He did it when Harry was awkward, but he also did it when Harry was smooth. He smiled smugly when Harry looked at him, and his smile irked when Harry looked away. He smiled that way when Harry suggested a wine. He did it again when Harry suggested dessert.

"None for me, thanks," he demurred when Harry ordered a slice of Apple Amber and two forks.

Finally, Harry broke.

* * *

Harry cancelled dessert and poured a tottering pile of coins on the table. He stood and extended a hand to Draco, who - clearly bemused - took it in his own and stood, but came no closer, even when Harry tugged gently. 

"Keep the change," he said to the waiter's wide eyes. Then Harry yanked on Draco's hand and - when Draco was in his arms - Apparated the two of them away before Draco could express surprise.

"Which of those smug, infuriating little smiles meant I've made a terrible mistake?" Harry said, turning from Draco into a beautiful garden. "All?"

"None," Draco murmured.

* * *

Harry strode further into the garden. Draco followed. They sat on a bench, silent and awkward. 

"Where are we?" Draco finally managed.

"The Walled Garden at Knappogue Castle. Seamus showed me." Harry inhaled. "So, what the fuck was that?"

Draco winced. "My apologies," he began. He stood, faced away. "I think, part of me… still perceives our interactions as a contest. It's foolish, and immature." He twisted his hands together once before putting them in his pockets; then turned and faced Harry, looking him square in the eye. "I should have wanted a wonderful evening. Instead, I wished to win."

* * *

"Win?" Harry stood also. "What does that even mean?"

Draco blinked. "Isn't it obvious?"

"No," Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well…" Draco stammered. He looked down. "I can't explain."

"Can't, or won't?"

Draco's thoughts careened as he tried to choose his words carefully. 

_winning means you fancy me more._

_that you're more invested._

_it means you have more to lose._

_winning means I have the upper hand._

"I don't want to get hurt," he finally said.

Harry took Draco's hands into his own. "Draco, I fancy you. Quite a lot. But this can't be a competition." 

* * *

"I know times have been tough for you, and your mother. I know you take her welfare very personally. I admire that. Perhaps because of my own shortened relationship with my mother. Or maybe it just feels right to me that you two would champion one another when you became a pair against the world."

Harry paused. "Part of me wants to treat you like a treasure; put you on a pedestal and solve all your problems. But I was up half of last night thinking this through, and I now believe I can't be your savior _and_ your boyfriend."

* * *

"Yes, quite." Draco agreed. He squeezed Harry's hands and sat back down. Harry sat next to him. Close, but not touching. "I have to save myself."

"The thing is," Harry interrupted, "you're awfully close already, aren't you? Your bank account isn't what it once was—"

Draco snorted softly and Harry knocked their shoulders together once, gently.

"—but you've regained a great deal, it seems to me. You and your mother are free, completely exonerated—"

"Acquitted by the skin of our teeth, you mean," Draco interjected.

"No," Harry said slowly, "that's not how I see it at all."

* * *

"We're getting sidetracked," Harry said, frustrated. "The important thing is - if we aren't equals, we can't possibly forge a relationship worth having."

Draco's brain slowed as his cheeks heated. He should respond, but how?

"So not only can I not put you on a pedestal and treat you like some sort of… treasure, but you can't play hard to get. Women invented that trick to respond to the sexist power imbalance. That sort of underhandedness is… unbecoming of an equal. You can't treat me like I have all the power and you're the only one with a heart to lose!"

* * *

"I… apologize," Draco managed. "I should not have behaved as I did at dinner. I was acting from a place of fear, and an assumption of both social and moral inferiority. In future I shall endeavor to behave, not as a coquette, but as your equal. There should be no double standard between us. I will do my best to recall that." He swallowed, and took Harry's hand. "This is, this has the potential, anyway, to be a real treasure in my life." 

He turned and looked Harry in the eye. "I'll try harder, therefore, not to fuck it up."

* * *

Harry squeezed Draco's hand. He caressed Draco's jaw. "May I?" he whispered, and when Draco nodded, they leaned in, and kissed.

Closing his eyes, reaching forward, Draco surrendered. He'd longed for this, tried to prevent it, assured himself it was completely impossible; all the while yearning for a way to subvert every insurmountable obstacle, craving a way to overcome everything preventing this romance, this kiss. 

Harry's hands were large and strong. They gripped Draco at the shoulder, at the elbow. Harry's presence was pinpointed, his tongue shocking. 

Golden, shining stars exploded behind Draco's eyes. He tried to remember to breathe.

* * *

Draco's mouth was the sun. His body was gravity. The touch of his hands - through Harry's suit - elicited increasing, concentric circles of burn that Harry thought would surely leave marks on Harry's skin. Harry vowed to treasure them if they came true.

Harry gripped Draco's shoulder and elbow so as not to fall so thoroughly into the other man's orbit that he would burn away into nothing. Nonetheless, kissing Draco lit a flame so high and deep inside that Harry could feel parts of himself burning away into ash. Skeptical parts. Uncertain parts. Hesitant, cautious parts. 

"Privacy?" Draco finally mouthed.

* * *

Harry's return portkey tossed them into a small room with an enormous fireplace Floo. Harry locked it down. "Upstairs?" he asked. "Bedroom?"

Draco nodded, wordless. Harry took his hand; it felt as though they flew up the staircase together.

"I've been dreaming of undressing your body, touching your skin, since long before our first business lunch," Harry confessed, shedding his tie, his shoes.

Draco slowly slipped off his own tie. He wanted to tell Harry how he felt, but suspected he'd sealed his own mouth. He couldn't think of a thing to say that wouldn't sound moronic, desperate, or juvenile.

* * *

Harry had undressed very quickly, derailing Draco's focus. Then he'd walked over, _completely nude_ , and asked to help Draco finish undressing. 

Which is how Draco found himself, almost completely unclothed, sitting on the edge of Potter's bed. Harry knelt at his feet, pulling off Draco's grey socks. "You're gorgeous," Harry breathed. He looked as dazed as Draco felt.

"Is that a fact?" Draco said, attempting to laugh it off. 

"Yes," Harry said, sounding reverent. He dropped the socks and stood. His erection projected proudly and Draco felt himself fixate on it, like it was the only thing in the room. 

* * *

Harry held out his hand. Draco stared, mind nearly empty, finally raising his own arm. He took Harry's warm, strong hand, and this clasp hung between them for a long, confusing moment, until Harry… pulled. 

Draco came to his feet, overwhelmed, confused, lust-filled and unsure. His heart was pounding, his underarms were damp, he was freezing cold and, in fact, he might be about to faint. 

Harry pulled Draco close; put an arm around his shoulders, another around his waist. "I'm so lucky," he whispered, and, as their erections rubbed together, Harry twirled Draco to the music on the wireless.

* * *

They twirled to the music, til Draco stopped, put a hand on Harry's chest, smiled his graceful confusion. "This is romantic and lovely, but I haven't had sex in a very long time. I miss it."

"I haven't had sex in three years." Harry answered. He plucked Draco's hand from his chest and raised it to his lips to kiss. 

"You?" Draco said, dumbfounded. "Not for the same reasons as me, surely. Why on earth has everyone's hero been turning people down?"

"I've been looking for…." Harry twirled Draco once more, then pulled him in to kiss him again. "Quality."

* * *

Draco let himself get lost in Harry's arms for another waltz, until he bowed and sat on the bed, pulling Harry to join him. 

"This is flattering…" he trailed off.

"I've overwhelmed you," Harry said softly, staring at the floor. Draco caressed his chin to catch his gaze.

"I'm not upset," Draco promised. "But… yes." 

"You preferred a quick tumble?" Harry asked, arms crossing.

Draco stroked Harry's hand. "I can't believe _I'm_ reassuring _you_ ," he laughed. "I've nothing against a high-quality seduction," he promised, feeling giggly, "it's just a bit of wham-bam-thank-you-mam would not have let me stop and think."

* * *

"What's the matter with memorable?" Harry asked, taking Draco's hand. "For that matter," he said, laying down on his back and pulling Draco to lay half next to and half on top of him, "what's the matter with stopping to think?" 

Draco took Harry's mouth with his own, tired of speaking. He felt his erection surge back to full hardness as he explored Harry's soft hair, hard muscles, sensitive mocha skin. 

"You prefer to bottom?" he asked. Harry nodded, stroking Draco's messy fringe from his forehead. "I usually do as well," Draco admitted, "but for you I'll make an exception."

* * *

Draco took some time preparing Harry. First, three years was a long time. Second, making Harry wait was a lot more fun than having Harry make _him_ wait. Draco hadn't always sought much control during sexual encounters. He found he liked taking a bit more charge.

When Harry was finally not only a writhing, impatient bundle of need, but also seemed adequately stretched, Draco climbed between Harry's open legs. He stroked his own erection, getting himself slick.

"It's not too late to switch," he said, uncomfortably nervous.

"I trust you. This will be good." Harry smiled. "For both of us."

* * *

Sliding inch by inch into Harry, Draco nervously watched Harry's face. Learning Harry hadn't had sex in _three years_ had been intimidating. If Draco hurt Harry, he wouldn't forgive himself. Harry might not, either. Bottom or top, Draco didn't want a one-off.

"Is that all right?" Draco asked, stopping before he was even halfway in. 

"Yeahhhhh…." Harry answered. "More. Please."

"You grimaced," Draco said moments later.

"S'good," Harry encouraged.

Soon Draco stopped again. "What's that expression mean?" 

"It means," Harry said, "I should ride you instead of being underneath. I don't mind taking our time, but this is getting silly!"

* * *

Draco wanted to fret when Harry pulled away, but Harry smiled and kissed him sweetly. Then he pushed Draco down and swung himself over. "I'm so ready," he said fervently. 

"Me, too," Draco said, still amazed this was real. 

With Harry on top, Draco's cock was swiftly enveloped into Harry's tight heat. 

Draco fought to keep his eyes open. It was late, but instead of tired he was lit up, jittery, nervous; filled with hope. They really were fucking. Watching Harry ride him, Draco forgot fear. He watched Harry enjoy him. Experience him.

"Harry…" he said on a breath. "Harry." 

* * *

Draco started out determined not to come early, but - as a natural bottom who was topping this time - he found his concerns made it very easy to hold off. 

Harry, though, clearly felt no constraints on his behavior, and despite Draco's nervousness and uncertainty, he did seem to be enjoying himself thoroughly. Laying back to watch Harry ride him, Draco was able to appreciate the man's beauty and abandon. Harry's eyes were closed, and tentatively, Draco reached for his face. Harry's eyes locked on his. "You feel so good inside me," Harry said, and kissed Draco deep, sweet and overwhelming.

* * *

Harry came hard. With Draco's hands caressing his thighs, Harry braced a hand on Draco's pec, jerked himself off, and sprayed release as far as Draco's chin. Soon he collapsed on Draco's chest. "I really hope you'll roll over and pound me," he whispered, "but not yet. I still need a minute to recover."

"I can't, anyway." Draco confessed, whispering into Harry's sweaty hair. 

"You came?" Harry asked, rolling away, then gazing besottedly into Draco's eyes. Then he looked down. "You don't look like you came?"

"I don't think I can come while topping," Draco admitted, embarrassed. "It's too intense."

* * *

"Want a hand job?" Harry asked, reaching for Draco's cock. 

"Yes," Draco gasped. "I… like hand jobs!"

"I'd top you while I stroke you," Harry said, curling up to spoon Draco from behind. "But it's too early for me to get hard again."

"I'd love that," Draco confessed, barely able to speak as Harry wrung pleasure from his cock and balls with both his hands. 

"Next time," Harry suggested, and began to nibble Draco's neck. "We'll find many ways to enjoy each other in bed."

"Harry," Draco said, almost incoherent with lust.

"And against walls, on tables, over chairs, outdoors…."

* * *

One A.M. and Draco was determined to Floo home. "I must be there when Mother wakes," he said, hating how plaintive he sounded. 

"I know your mother approves of me," Harry wheedled, hating how needy he sounded.

"Honestly, that's the problem," Draco said, caressing Harry's naked shoulder, staying in the bed despite what he knew he had to do. "If I'm not at breakfast, if the house-elves mention my bed wasn't slept in, Mother will assume we're essentially… betrothed."

Harry's eyebrows rose.

"I'm not ready for that," Draco admitted.

Harry tactfully did not say whether he was ready for it.

* * *

Eyes smouldering in the low light of his small lamp, Harry moved instead, bridging himself over Draco. 

Harry was already half hard. Draco raised his eyes again to see Harry was amused. 

"Yes," Draco admitted, smiling. "I was looking at your cock." 

"Stay long enough to bottom? One more orgasm for the road?"

"I thought you didn't like to top," Draco stalled, trailing tempted fingers down Harry's muscular chest.

"Except for toys, I've been celibate for three years," Harry said, grinning impishly. "What the hell do I know about what I like in bed? Except… you. I definitely like you."

* * *

"I'll stay." Draco opened his legs, reached for Harry, pulled him in between, and sighed his bliss at the feeling of cock, chest, skin, lips - all on his. Moving. Sighed his bliss in Harry. Warm, strong, utterly riveted by him. By _Draco_. Draco didn't literally shake his head in disbelief, but it was a close call. 

Harry slid one slick finger between his cheeks, kissed him deeply. Draco pulled up a knee and kissed him back. 

Harry found his hole with that finger and wetted it, twisted in it.

"Now," Draco begged. "I'm ready. After all, I like toys, too."

* * *

Harry grinned. He didn't ask if Draco was sure, he just put Draco's feet on his shoulders and lined himself up. When Draco grabbed his arse and pulled, Harry pushed in very slowly, then stayed deep inside him for a long, heavy moment. Draco moaned his pleasure. Then he squeezed Harry with all his muscles, wanting to get fucked.

"Oh!" Harry said, clearly surprised by something. 

"What?" Draco said, tipping his pelvis up to take even more of Harry's cock.

"Topping… it's… is…" Harry thrust in harder than before, his pace quickening, and Draco forgot what they were talking about.

* * *

"You have to go?"

"Yes," Draco sighed. 

"Then I'll stop trying to keep you here," Harry said, and got out of the bed to put on his dressing gown. 

Draco looked at it as he dressed, surprised to realize it was green. As he stood and slipped on his shoes, he saw how well it brought out the green in Harry's lovely eyes.

"That's a great colour for you," he said, tying his shoes with his wand. He tossed his jacket over his shoulder. 

"Gift from Molly Weasley."

"Not from an old lover, then?"

Harry laughed and shook his head.

* * *

"When will you go out with me again?" Harry said as he walked Draco to his Floo. 

Draco wanted to say, "tomorrow!" but instead stopped to consider his schedule. "Brewing," he murmured. "Pansy and Blaise. Mother, lunch, research…." He looked at the ceiling.

"I need to buy you a day planner," Harry said, leaning a shoulder against the wall and laughing fondly.

"Sounds handy," Draco said, smiling. "And I can see you for dinner on Sunday night. Is that all right?"

"It's perfect," Harry said, smiling sappily. "Except for having to wait."

Draco Flooed home, wearing his own sappy smile.

* * *

Harry arrived for their dinner date Sunday evening, 7 sharp. This, Draco had expected. 

He wore the latest in wizarding fashion and looked mouth-wateringly delicious. This, Draco had _not_ expected. 

"Turn," he demanded, demonstrating a circle with his index finger. Harry obliged, and Draco held back a whistle. "Don't you look elegant!"

"Do I?" Harry said. "That's a relief."

"Don't be coy," Draco chided. "It's unbecoming."

"Not coy." Harry blushed. "Though I take your point. I genuinely appreciate the compliment." 

"You're honestly not pretending modesty?" 

"Nope. I'm not confident about fashion… stuff."

"Then," Draco indicated Harry's fabulous clothes. "How?"

"Lavender!" 

* * *

"She steered you right," Draco said. "But why did you choose fancy wizarding clothes? The Muggle world is such an easy place to be discreet, I'd rather assumed we'd try that this time."

"I prefer the convenience and benefits of magic," Harry said. He held up a battered pair of red sunglasses. "Portkey to Taberna Elegante."

Draco tipped his head. "Which is?"

"Lovely restaurant in Lisbon."

"Portugal?" 

Harry nodded and Draco didn't bother to hide his shock. "You bought another international portkey? Bit extravagant for a second date, don't you think?"

Harry shrugged, looking pleased with himself. "You're worth it." 

* * *

The portkey dropped them into a spiral of purple flowers and bright green grass outside an impossibly tall, narrow wooden building. Balconies with occupied tables bloomed from every floor, flung at odd angles. Draco saw flamboyantly dressed couples eating under enormous turquoise umbrellas, on a large, fenced-in stone patio. Other arrivals strolled toward a curved, curlicue covered door. No one batted an eye at the way Harry took hold of Draco's hand and curled his fingers around warmly, possessively. 

Draco decided to simply enjoy anonymous ease in a foreign country, and followed as Harry guided them, along with the flow.

* * *

Together they gazed at the extravagantly decorated restaurant and patrons with some surprise. "Looks like the Portuguese aren't exactly…"

"Staid," Draco primly finished for Harry, who beamed mischievously at him. 

"I was more thinking 'British'," he said, and Draco reminded himself not to elbow Harry in annoyance. Instead, he looked sternly down his nose. Harry looked horribly chastened for a moment, until he lost control and guffawed without grace. 

"People are staring!" Draco whispered, alarm rising.

"Let them," Harry said with warmth, and led Draco closer to the tiny circle of table a maître d' had silently walked them toward.

* * *

Dinner was as lovely as Harry had promised. They started with a cheese board. Then tiny, round bowls of a violently purple soup Draco had never before eaten, but found he adored. He didn't normally eat such spicy things, but this was delicious. For their main, they each chose fish. It was so fresh that Draco joked he could see his jerk in fear when he raised a knife to it. He had sea bass while Harry tried Black scabbardfish. Draco preferred the taste of his choice, but had to admit Harry's meal smelled marvelous, and the presentation was perfect.

* * *

The waiter brought more and more. Somehow their miniscule table held everything. Draco expressed nervousness about it when Harry ordered yet another vegetable dish, and Harry's responding laugh was joyous. "Magic, Draco!"

Surrounded in a bubbling circle of strangers, Draco relaxed more and more. He smiled. He laughed. He rested his head on his hand and stared into Harry's eyes for long seconds. They drank wine. They ate to excess. They ordered dessert which neither of them could quite finish though both of them wanted to. They lingered at the table far longer than necessary, but the waiter never pushed.

* * *

Eventually, reluctantly, they knew they had to leave. Harry paid the tab while Draco was in the mens, and Draco appreciated his generosity and circumspection. It was depressing to have become so penniless, but Draco was fortunate Harry could help him pretend - for a few hours - he was still wealthy. 

Strolling away from the restaurant, holding Harry's hand and laughing at one of Harry's terrible jokes, Draco thought about how much Harry had already spent on just two dinner dates. Portkeys, flowers, meals, new clothes. Perhaps, Draco realized, it was time to invite Harry on a date Draco could afford.

* * *

It took research, braving the August heat, and a Muggle library, but Draco knew he'd found the perfect way to show Harry his appreciation and treat Harry to a day of not having to make all the decisions and pay all the bills. 

"You really don't have to do this," Harry said when Draco came through his Floo with a bunch of flowers he'd picked from what was left of his mother's garden. "I don't mind paying for things."

"It's my turn," Draco said simply. "And this should be tremendous fun. Have you ever been to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival?"

* * *

Harry applied gentle glamours and notice-me-not charms, so if they were spotted, their privacy would still be assured. Then, grinning with faked confidence, Draco took Harry's hands and Apparated them to a hidden spot deep inside the Festival.

Draco had chosen wisely. They spent no money in all the time they wandered Edinburgh. Free performances abounded, and some of them were remarkably good! They watched short plays, jugglers, fire eaters and puppeteers.

He brought a picnic lunch, which they shared at Strathclyde Country Park, watching Muggles rowing crew through the lake, their oars stroking rhythmically and swiftly through the water.

* * *

Hours after lunch, Harry dropped his head to Draco's shoulder. "This has been such a lovely day," he began. 

Draco's heart jerked painfully. "But?" he whispered. Nervous despite agreeing with Harry. It _had_ been a wonderful day. He thought it still was.

"No 'but'," Harry said, smile lopsided and warm. "Unless you mean my ham-handed attempt to say I think I'm done for the day and want to head home?" He stroked a hand over Draco's hair, lingering at Draco's nape. "It's only, we overdid it last time, in Portugal, and that meant neither of us was up for sex."

* * *

Draco felt his responding smile widen. "Are you saying, kind sir, that you wish to _have sex_ with me?"

Harry took Draco's hands in his and twirled him off the sidewalk onto the grass. Then he pulled Draco close and whispered in his ear. "I might be a bit more of a top than I'd previously understood," he said. "It seems like quite the stroke of luck, since you are as unenthusiastic about topping as you'd explained. But my theory needs more tests, before I can be sure. And yes, I think you're just the man to help me decide."

* * *

Getting to a private _Apparition_ spot seemed to take forever, though Draco knew it was more like a ten minute walk. Why was Edinburgh so damn open? So full of festival-goers?

Finally, they found a nook and hid inside. Draco was ready to _Apparate_ out immediately, but Harry had other ideas. He pressed Draco into the stones, simultaneously stroking his wand through the air, casting something to keep them alone.

"You're so fucking sexy," Harry growled, gently biting Draco's neck, his thigh between Draco's. "I'm the luckiest wizard in England."

"Scotland," Draco teased.

"Right," Harry agreed. "So let's go home."

* * *

Soon Draco found himself naked on his fours, in Harry's sunlit bed. He would have several bruises from this encounter, he realized distantly. He was sure he didn't mind. Right now what mattered was Harry's hands, gripping Draco's arse tightly. And Harry's cock, slowly splitting Draco open just right. 

New to topping and uncertain, Harry wasn't interested in pounding into Draco 'like a jackhammer'. (He'd had to explain the metaphor, and when Draco's eyes got glassy, he'd promised he could work towards anything Draco wanted to try.) 

"There's no competition," Draco had reassured Harry.

"And no rush," Harry had agreed.

* * *

Draco realized he hadn't drunk enough caffeine yesterday when he woke in Harry's bed at nearly 4am. He'd seriously overslept. 

Sighing, Draco kissed Harry and, pointing a gentle _Lumos_ away from his boyfriend's face, dressed quickly. He would need to Apparate directly into his bedroom at home if he had the slightest chance of keeping this indiscretion from Mother.

"Gotta go?" Harry asked, bleary.

Nodding, not bothering to hide his disappointment (sleeping next to Harry was surprisingly lovely), Draco raised his wand and took a moment to hope he could avoid Mother's _look_. Then, twisting into _Apparition_ , he landed home.

* * *

His bedroom was dark, quiet and oddly cold. Feeling a fool for missing Harry already, Draco undressed once more and climbed into his big empty bed.

Frulie woke Draco at 8:15, and he dressed for a day of brewing in his tidy home laboratory. Mother awaited him at the breakfast table. He raised the stasis charms from his eggs and pumpkin juice, prompting Mother to lower her newspaper.

"Drink your pumpkin juice," she scolded. "It's full of vitamins."

Somewhat relieved, Draco obeyed.

"And tell me where you were until 4am," Mother finished, and Draco's juice went down the wrong pipe.

* * *

When Draco did not answer, Narcissa answered for him. "I assume you were with Mr Potter until 4am. I'm not sure I approve of sexual contact before marriage, but you are a grown man, pregnancy is impossible and, perhaps more to the point, I pushed you to accept Mr Potter's advances so I suppose I don't really have any authority to suggest you shouldn't sleep with him."

Belatedly, Draco realized his fork was dangling at the end of his hand. He'd been staring, silent and shocked, through his mother's entire speech.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, eat your eggs," Mother snapped.

* * *

"Did you think I wouldn't know?" Narcissa paused. Face burning, Draco drank juice. "Or did you think I would pretend I haven't eyes? Didn't know my own son, my own home, my own wards?"

Supremely uncomfortable, but conditioned both to obey Mother and never waste food, Draco silently ate his entire breakfast while Mother stared at him. When he finished eating, he dabbed his face with his napkin, then waited obediently. 

"Walk me to your laboratory," Mother said. Then she moved in the opposite direction. Confused, he hesitated. "We shall walk the long way 'round." 

Swallowing his sigh, Draco followed.

* * *

"Your visits with Mr Potter are increasingly frequent. Your attempts at discretion are becoming haphazard. Thus, it is time to request Mr Potter's hand."

"Mother," Draco spoke gently. "I cannot be the one to propose marriage."

"We are of the Sacred twenty-eight!"

Draco waited.

"Our, our lands, our…."

"Wealth?" Draco finished softly. "Our social standing? Father's impressive career? Our impeccable reputation?"

"You will eat those words someday," Mother said sourly.

 _Will I?_ Draco thought, but he only said, "Someday is not today. And Harry was not raised to expect talk of marriage after three dates. Even if… sex is involved."

* * *

"I suppose," she agreed, sounding quite reluctant. "But you understand how this looks?"

" _To whom?_ " Draco wondered petulantly. Other than Mother (how embarrassing!), he believed only he and Harry knew any important details of their newborn relationship. 

But, technically true though that might be, Draco also knew it wasn't enough. Harry seemed to have alerted every friend he had that the two of them were - at the least - going on dates. Finnigan knew they'd eaten at his sister's restaurant, Creevey knew about the encrypted portkeys, Brown had sold Harry all his fancy new clothes…

Their privacy was a limited commodity.

* * *

"You must think me awfully square," Narcissa hedged.

Draco laughed. "I had not, I promise," he said truthfully, but only because he never used such outdated language. He did think Mother was being old fashioned. Nonetheless, she had a point. 

"Harry has allowed several friends to know we have gone on a date, even two or three. So the press may print something. It may be salacious. It will almost certainly be invasive. But I will not allow the press, or social mores, to push Harry into something he, or I, am not ready for. I hope you can understand."

* * *

"Perhaps that article, should it happen, could become a springboard—"

" ** _No_** , Mother," Draco said with all the firmness he could muster. "That is not a course of action either of us is going to pursue."

"Neither you nor Harry?"

"Neither I nor _you_ ," Draco asserted, grammar be damned. "Things between Harry and I have been going remarkably smoothly; and I attribute that to patience, and wise choices on both his and my behalf. When I consider our history…" Draco couldn't help but pause here, overwhelmed by the weight both of what could have been, and what really had occurred.

* * *

After Draco spooled out a foolishly long pause, Mother patted his hand. "I suppose I understand," she finally allowed. "Times have changed very rapidly, just in my lifetime."

"The timeline is far narrower, Mum. We both have a new world to adjust to. But really, as you and Harry both keep telling me, we are experiencing a smoother path than I anticipated."

Mother nodded. Draco exhaled slowly, relieved. "So you won't push?"

"I cannot promise never to push," Mother said honestly. "But I do understand your point of view, and promise to take it into consideration. Now. You go brew."

* * *

Draco kissed Mother's forehead in gratitude, then entered his laboratory. Two days prior, he had delivered approximately a month's worth of Softness Solution to Wheezes, so today he needed to begin brewing a month's worth of Enhancimancy. In three days he could deliver it. Then perhaps Harry would help him relax.

Gathering supplies, he frowned. Where was all his fresh lavender? "Frulie?" he called, when he'd searched the sixth place he could possibly imagine lavender might be hiding.

Minutes later, he was in the Floo to Neville Longbottom. Poor Frulie hadn't meant to expend a critical potions ingredient while cooking.

* * *

"Greatly appreciated, Longbottom," Draco said, watching him layer freshly picked lavender plants into a stasis box. "Such quality, too. Do you normally require customers to order large quantities well in advance?"

"It's preferable," Longbottom admitted, "but I know who you're selling to. Harry and George are close friends. I like them to stay well stocked with quality products."

"Ah," Draco said, a bit helplessly. "Yes. I was fortunate to sign with Wheezes. I do indeed need this for a product they've contracted me to brew."

"Heard about that, too," Longbottom said, winking. "Looking forward to trying that out with Hannah."

* * *

Embarrassed to be included in… such banter, Draco mumbled.

Longbottom elbowed him gently, then laughed! Draco stared, devoid of a polite response. He was out of his depth.

"Sorry if I was too fresh," Neville said, stepping toward his Floo with the lavender. "I figured, since you're dating Harry, I thought… you're one of us now?"

Draco opened a Floo connection and stared, still surprised, as Longbottom Flooed the plants through into his lab. 

He paid Longbottom, who pocketed the money without counting it and stepped toward the Floo. "Welcome to the gang, Draco," he said, and Flooed away smiling.

* * *

Lucky for Draco, he'd always found hard, solitary work to be a direct antidote to discomfort. Between Mother's matchmaking and Longbottom's chumminess, he was discomfited, but he had a month's worth of Enhancimancy to brew, and burying himself in its creation was second nature.

Unluckily for Draco, he was soon in such a 'zone,' it didn't occur to him until the Enhancimancy was nearly ready to bottle, that he'd never before used such high quality lavender. Had it changed the product's potency? Tests were necessary. He stared at his fragrant, purple goo, then smiled. He knew just who could help.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_  
Presently I find myself in a slight potions predicament. I hope you can find time to assist me this evening between the end of the evening meal (which I would enjoy sharing with you, but that is not necessary) and 10pm.  
The exact nature of my dilemma should not be shared on paper, as owl post is occasionally intercepted. Please Floo with any questions, or an answer. I will be in my laboratory and either Mother or Frulie will be able to fetch me to the secure Manor Floo.  
I look forward to hearing from you,  
Sincerely,  
Draco 

* * *

"Draco!" Harry declared when Draco finally presented himself. It took five minutes to walk from his laboratory to his secure Floo, but Draco hated the way the Manor wards reacted when he _Apparated_ inside.

"Harry," Draco replied warmly. "I'll get right to it, now we've privacy. Neville's plants were quite superior. I need to test this Enhancimancy. Will you help?"

"Naked?" Harry asked, eyebrows nearly levitating off his face.

"Quite," Draco agreed, grinning.

"I'll be right there!"

"Wait!" Draco laughed. "I wished to test at yours!"

"Dinner can wait, Draco, Floo!"

"I've already three bottles in my pocket," Draco admitted.

* * *

When Draco stepped into Harry's home he was greeted with kisses that quickly became fervid. When Harry began removing Draco's robes, though, the bottles clinked and Draco remembered he wasn't just there for sex.

"Tests… I've procedures…" he panted, pulling his mouth and shoulders away.

"Yes, of course," Harry agreed. He let go of Draco and stepped back slightly. 

Draco presented Harry with a list of testing procedures, and Harry skimmed it while Draco caught his breath. 

Harry started walking to his bedroom, muttering Draco's instructions. "Six large glasses cold water, three distinctly different lubricants…"

Draco followed, Enhancimancy in hand.

* * *

Draco was filthy, sated and overwhelmed. Sex with Harry was wonderful. Sex under Enhancimancy was intense beyond his ability to describe it in words. Were he to try, he feared he would utter inanities like 'wow" multiple times, until Harry insisted he add a sock to his mouth.

"Was that, normal?" Harry finally asked. He pulled Draco close, necessitating moments of silence while they both adjusted to the new places where their skin touched.

"Believe it or not, that's just how Enhancimancy is meant to work. I didn't make it stronger, I just made _more_. I need to purchase bottles."

* * *

Eventually the Enhancimancy wore off, but the lovers still cuddled in bed. 

"After I deliver this," Draco said, "I won't have to brew for… _days_. Travel with me?"

Up on one elbow, Harry smiled. "That sounds wonderful, but I'm surprised. I thought you were trying not to spend my money." He winked as he brushed Draco's fringe from his forehead.

"Who said anything about money?" Draco said, looking innocent and pressing closer. "Subtract all thoughts of expensive hotels, fancy souvenirs and pricey meals, Harry. All I need is you and me in a beach shack, sandwiches, and lots of lubricant."

* * *

"I like the sound of that," Harry said, petting Draco's hair. "I'm sure George wouldn't mind if I asked for a holiday."

"I thought you owned half the shop?"

"Oh," Harry squinted and looked down. "I don't like to, I mean…." He hesitated, then tried again. "I sort of subtract that from my… I'm just not…." Harry shrugged.

"That doesn't come up?"

Harry smiled with gratitude. "Right," he agreed. "George founded Wheezes with Fred, he dreams up most products, he makes most big marketing decisions. George is just…. Better."

Draco nodded. Harry hadn't ever struck him as a hard-headed businessman.

* * *

"I'm packed for the beach!" Harry stood in his bedroom doorway, wearing orange Bermuda shorts with a pink and blue Hawaiian shirt, beach shoes and the heavy silver wristwatch Draco had often noticed on his arm before.

"First, those clothes clash violently," Draco said. He couldn't help his smile. "It hurts to look at you. Second, should you wear a nice watch like that to the beach?"

"It was my grandfather's," Harry said, looking at it. "It was in my Gringotts vault. I only remove it for showers and sex."

"Leave it home, Harry, that's all we're going to do!"

* * *

The portkey dropped them in the dark, on a deserted pink sand beach. No hotel, no restaurant, not so much as a public toilet awaited them. Because they had to bring everything, the portkey had been surprisingly inexpensive, which was how Draco'd managed to pay half.

Harry owned a decent wizarding tent, which they set up quickly, by the light of the moon. Draco (thanks to Frulie) supplied the hamper full of food. 

Finally, they could relax. Draco began to strip naked, right there at the edge of the water. "Can you fuck me while we watch the sun rise?"

* * *

Harry spread a thick blanket on the wet sand. The cove where they'd set up camp was so tree-sheltered, so small, the ocean was barely visible, at least not in the dim beginning of dawn.

"Big beach," Harry remarked as he removed his clothing. "Think this is dead low tide?"

"Yes. Or close," Draco amended. He lay on the blanket and watched Harry finish stripping and lay next to him.

"I know you're not crazy about topping," Harry said, not quite looking Draco in the eye. He began to blush. "But let me ride you a little before we switch?"

* * *

"Sure," Draco said, reaching for his lover. "But you'd better get me pretty worked up first," he teased. "So I'm hard enough to get inside that tight little arse."

Harry groaned frustration and acceptance, and soon they lay side by side, entwined so that even birds observing from the lowest branches could only tell them apart by skin color. Harry's golden mocha skin contrasted richly with Draco's peaches and cream as they caressed and stroked, kissed and loved.

Soon Harry rolled Draco onto his back, prepared himself with a quick spell, and gently fitted himself down over Draco's heavy cock. 

* * *

Slowly, they moved toward and away, Draco's cock sweetly filling Harry's arse. 

"I love when you fill me," Harry groaned, low and needy. 

"You feel so good," Draco admitted. "Even if I can't come like this, I do enjoy it."

"Topping is great," Harry said, forcing himself not to speed his strokes up and down Draco's hard cock. "I think the more we fuck, the better we'll get at it. At all of it."

"Merlin, I'm sure as hell willing to test that theory!"

They both chuckled, stopping to kiss. "Your turn now," Harry murmured. "Before I come from this."

* * *

Harry paused his packing. Their beach trip had been marvelous, but it was nearly over. "So, I was thinking of a way we might be able to work toward taking this public."

Draco turned away from the dishes washing themselves in the sink. "What? Are you mad?"

Harry hurried over to calm Draco with kisses. "Not mad. Impatient. And… in love."

Draco let both his eyebrows go as high as anatomy allowed, but he elected not to speak. He wasn't sure he could.

Harry hugged Draco tightly, hiding his face in Draco's neck. "I love you," he repeated. "Say something?"

* * *

"Wasn't that sort of fast?" Draco finally said.

"Fast? I've known you since we were eleven!" Harry laughed, joyous and free.

Draco had no response to that, and he held onto Harry, worried that if he tried to speak, he'd say something terrible.

In love. Harry was in love. With Draco! Harry kissed Draco's neck and squeezed him, waiting patiently (how?!) for Draco to say something back.

"What's that Celestina Warbeck song?" Draco finally tried. "I'm as high, as the birds, in the trees! I'm as free, as a Snitch, on the breeze! Because dear, you're in love, with meee!"

* * *

"I hate Celestina Warbeck," Harry giggled.

"Everyone our age does," Draco agreed, still stunned. Did he love Harry? How would he know? He'd never been in love! "You sure about going public?"

"We have to, eventually," Harry looked solemn.

"We do?" Draco just didn't understand.

"If we're ever going to do anything visible together."

"Like?"

"Diagon Alley. Quidditch games. Anything! Who knows when the press will get on a high horse, start ranting about me? We need to get out in front, take control."

"This is important to you," Draco realized.

"They don't set these terms," Harry agreed. "We do."

* * *

"I want to make you happy," Draco told Harry. He paused then, reflecting on what he'd said. It was true, he realized. It was completely, unambiguously true. Draco Malfoy wanted to make Harry Potter happy. Was that love, he wondered? He should probably talk to his Mum. She'd know how to help him work this through.

"And I love you for it," Harry answered, shyly. "So. I want to take this really slowly and carefully. With the press? They have a habit of ruining everything of mine that they can. That's why I want to do this well, and intentionally."

* * *

"What's your idea?" Draco asked.

They sat. Their portkey wasn't for 45 minutes and they were almost ready.

"I'll say 'I want everyone to know how happy I am, but my new boyfriend doesn't want any negative publicity.' The _Prophet_ is sure to eat that up."

Draco nodded. 

"They'll press me, for your name, for any details, but I'll keep saying I'm afraid they'll ruin things. Eventually, people will either stop caring, or they'll all be so desperate to know who you are they won't care about your past when they find out your name."

"That… might work," Draco said.

* * *

Draco's brow creased. He squeezed Harry's hand. "Won't this encourage reporters to intrude upon you?"

Harry smiled. "I'll be fine. Besides, press is never bad for the shop."

Draco wanted to let Harry decide. Harry could surely manage the _Prophet_ by now. Still… "I'll consider it," he finally said. "Right now we must make quite sure we're ready for our noon portkey."

Harry gave Draco a worried look, then he wiped it off his face. "I know this will make things tense, but if I'm right, in a few months we'll be able to relax and live normally."

* * *

Harry checked that the dishes were indeed clean and put away and the kitchen spotless. Draco checked that their bed was stripped, every book and pillow put away, all the garbage vanished. He went to check that the windows had all been closed and fastened, but found Harry had just checked the last one.

"No trouble," Harry said. "I think the tent's ready. We should take it down."

Soon they were sitting on the sand, waiting as their portkey counted down.

"You think it will only take a few months?" Draco finally asked.

"Um, maybe? How long would you predict?"

* * *

"I fear that is overly optimistic," Draco mused, twirling fingers in the sand. "And yet, it isn't as though I have similar situations I can compare it to."

"I don't have direct comparisons either," Harry agreed. "But I've years of dealing with this crap under my belt, and my instinct says it's a good plan, and we should try it."

Draco looked into Harry's eyes. He knew he should just trust, but he couldn't help but fret. "I feel like… I'm causing too much trouble," he whispered.

Harry tried to reassure, but Draco stopped him. "Let me explain," he said.

* * *

Draco checked the portkey timer, sitting between them in the sand. They had six minutes. Taking a deep breath, he opened his heart. "I know you walked into this relationship with open eyes. I also know our lives are complex. Things change, and you Sir," he teased, "are a Gryffindor throughout. I don't ever want you to feel I've become more trouble than I'm worth, but you nonetheless feel stuck with me via some… unspoken promise."

"Didn't I ever tell you the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin?"

"Pfft," Draco scoffed. "I always knew that hat was dumb."

* * *

By the time the portkey whisked them back, they had tentatively agreed to follow Harry's plan. Harry kissed Draco, watched him enter the Manor, then _Apparated_ home with a goofy smile Draco could see through his window. 

Draco trudged upstairs, surprisingly tired. He should probably brew before dinner, but all he wanted was a nap. Perhaps it was safe to consider this to still be a day off? 

He did not encounter Mother on the way to his room, and, choosing to see this as a sign, he put down his shrunken luggage, stripped, and climbed into bed.

* * *

Draco felt much better when he woke two hours later. A shower refreshed him further. Standing under the spray he hoped a brilliant new potions concept would spring to mind, but he could only focus on two things:  
Harry wanted to go public.  
Harry _loved_ him.

Eventually Draco went to share dinner and a serious talk with Mother. Though he worried she would not respect his wishes to remain as free from public scrutiny as possible, he knew, nonetheless: Mother was wise, kind, and loved him like no-one else ever had. She had his best future at heart.

* * *

Frulie cleared the table as Draco finally finished expressing his every concern and confusion. "So," he said, twisting his worn linen napkin and trying hard to look fearlessly into his mother's eyes. "What do you think? Is it real love? Is Harry's plan to outsmart the press likely to work?"

"Frulie, sweetheart," Mother said with the gentleness that characterized her interactions with the house-elf now that she ran the Manor, and Father was in Azkaban. "Dinner was delicious. Draco and I will take tea in the sunroom in fifteen minutes."

Mother rose and Draco followed. "Let us talk, dear son."

* * *

Draco sat, tall on a beautiful chair, in a ray of warm sunlight. He carefully placed his hands in his lap. He would not wring them now.

"So," he began, "I am frightened. I do not want to say no to him, to this; but I worry Harry is wrong, that his plan will engender a destructive mess. I fear I will… lose him. Worse, I fear I will not only lose Harry, but everything I have gained for us since the acquittal."

"And that is?" Mother nodded as Frulie brought the tea.

"The blessing of invisibility." Draco sighed quietly. 

* * *

Mother moved to rebut Draco almost immediately -- he knew that face -- but instead she closed her mouth. 

Draco took his tea, easily patient. He was glad not to hear the same arguments that had not convinced him before.

Mother took her own tea before patting Draco's hand and trying again.

"I understand how hard you have worked for our current 'invisibility.' I know how much you value it. But there comes a time to take a risk. The fear you feel? That you will lose Harry? That fear means he is worth this risk. That fear means this is real."

* * *

Mother smiled absently for another long moment. She looked… melancholy.

Draco waited.

"You wanted to know what love feels like," she finally began again. "This. New love feels like what you are feeling, right now. This grand, glorious mess of fear and hope. Your need for him to be safe, for him to care for you, for him to be nearby. New love is your eagerness, nervousness, longing, trust and confusion, all wrapped up together. 

"You are in love, Draco. I am certain. What's more, I can see in his eyes, and his hands, and his smile, Harry loves you."

* * *

"I see his love in the way he doesn't Apparate home until he sees you wave goodbye to him from inside our home. 

"I see his love in the way he treats you to lavish experiences and never asks you to feel guilt or obligation in return. 

"I see his love in the way he looks happy when you appear, and happier still when you see him, smile at him, touch his hands. 

"You asked me, is this real love? I say, with all my motherly love for you: This is real love. Harry loves you, and you love him. 

* * *

"I know this is unnerving. But you understand there is no promise of perfection or safety. Not for hearts or futures in this strange, sometimes messy world. 

"But yes, Draco. It is real love, and it is time for you to step from the shadows and take Harry's hand."

Draco let the last of his mother's words wash over him. He gripped her hand in his own and sat, still and silent, for a long moment. Then he squeezed her hand and looked her in the eye. "Thank you," he said, and stood. "I have a Floo call to make."

* * *

Harry rose from the Floo, elated. They were finally ready to start this thing. 

Eager, Harry'd already begun working on his Quibbler letter. He knew there was an order to how this needed to go. Granted, he was planning from instinct, but he'd talked it over with Draco and soon they'd discuss it with Luna. He felt good about his plan.

First, a letter. Later, an interview with Luna. After that, silence. 

He'd Apparate to and from work, shop exclusively Muggle or owl order, never go out in public. When the tension ratcheted high enough, an interview with _Witch Weekly_.

* * *

**Recently I began dating an incredibly special wizard. Part of me wants to shout about my romance from the rooftops. But, as a 'celebrity' I have much to take into account. Were I to release all the details, my privacy would be erased. I want to say how happy I am, but my boyfriend and I fear negative publicity.**

**So, with that in mind, I am announcing that I am officially "off the market." I'm taken, I'm dating someone, he is wonderful! I'll announce his name at some point in the future.**

**Thank you for allowing us privacy.**

**Harry Potter**

* * *

"Mr Potter! What can you tell us about--"

"This new product line?"

"No, Mr Potter! About your new boyfriend!"

"He isn't for sale at the shop, so I won't be talking about him at work! Instead, I can't wait to show you all this amazing new--"

"But, Mr Potter! Everyone wants to know all about--"

"I thought I was clear in the Quibbler?"

"We know you don't want to reveal his name, but can't--"

"He's a private citizen. I'd like to think I am, too. Except at work, of course! I'm always happy to talk about our shop and products!"

* * *

"Mr. Weasley!"

"Why, it's the _Daily Prophet_ , _Witch Weekly_ , the _Hogsmeade Trumpet_ , and… who are you, kid?"

"WWN, sir!"

"Oh, yes, it's on the microphone. So happy to see all of you! I'm extremely excited about the new product lines we have available now, and the ones we'll be announcing in late August, just before all the kids head back to Hogwarts! Obviously you are all here to ask about those!"

"No, we want Harry!"  
"Harry isn't here. He Apparated home." George glared at the reporters. None of them blinked. "Frankly, his epic romance is none of your damn business."

* * *

"I just..." Draco sighed and looked toward the clouds. "...I'm making your life so difficult." If he didn't think it would hurt Harry's feelings he'd have pulled his hand from Harry's and stuffed it in a pocket. It seemed Harry was a step ahead of him, because he squeezed Draco's hand, a clear refusal to let go. Then Harry stopped walking, blocked his path and took up his other hand, too. He looked to the sky and mumbled something about finally understanding Hermione and Ron's tirades.

"Please, Draco," he beseeched. "Stop blaming yourself for what _they_ are doing to _us_."

* * *

Draco paused before speaking. "You see it that way?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Frankly, I need you to stop doubting how I feel about you, and how committed I am to this plan. And to you."

Draco blanched, his eyes widened. "I've been insulting you!"

Harry frowned. "Draco, I--"

"No, you're right. I'm going to stop. Immediately. I should trust you to know your own mind, and to have thought things through."

"Er, good," Harry said. "I appreciate that." He squeezed Draco's hand again.

"Let's go inside," Draco said, decisive. "I learned a new piece. I want to play for you."

* * *

Draco sat silent. His last notes dissipated into the cavernous room.

"Beautiful," Harry whispered.

Draco smiled down at his hands. "Thank you," he said. 

Harry moved to stand behind Draco, still sitting at the enormous, elderly piano. "I'm so sorry," he said, putting his hands on Draco's strong shoulders. He felt Draco relax under his touch. "I know you're scared. I need to respect that."

"The press… is no longer my friend. If it ever was," Draco paused, but he didn't seem finished, so Harry waited. Draco reached up and put one hand on Harry's. "But you're worth this risk."

* * *

Harry's breath stuttered. He dipped his head and gave himself a moment. "It means a lot," he finally managed, "to hear that."

Draco turned on the piano bench and reached for Harry, who sat next to him. They put their arms around one another and sat, silent and comfortable, just loving one another, comforting one another. 

"I have been scared," Draco admitted. "I suppose I still am, despite… well… so many things. But I had a very long, helpful conversation with Mother the other week, and I came to understand something. I realized something. Something I need to tell you."

* * *

Harry shuffled back so they could look one another in the eye. He appeared slightly nervous, so Draco put one hand on his cheek, and kissed him as tenderly as he knew how. 

"I've never felt this way before," Draco started. "About anyone: girl, boy, man or woman. But seeing you, it brings me joy. Touching you, it fills me with excitement. Knowing you will arrive soon, it fills me with… butterflies.

"I love you," Draco finally told Harry. "I'm in love with you."

Harry sobbed, just once, and clung to Draco. "We're going to make this work," he promised.

* * *

They found private ways to visit.

It helped that they both lived inside wards as formidable as a basilisk's smile. The Weasleys, too, owned property they had learned to ward to the edges and well over the trees.

August was for swimming in Draco's clear pond. September was for picnics in Harry's London garden. October was for strolls in Draco's arboretum as the leaves changed and the wind nipped.

November was for Harry's warm fireplace, hot cocoa with marshmallows. 

"I think the reporters that shadow me at work are near exploding," Harry confessed in early December.

"I know," Draco giggled. 

* * *

"Come on, Potter," whined a Prophet reporter. "Your public has a right to know." Harry pretended to ignore him but in his heart, he was fuming.

Owls beat the edges of Grimmauld Place's wards, threatening the Statute of Secrecy. Harry called the Ministry to deal with it.

"Is there nothing you're willing to share about your new man, Harry?" wheedled Witch Weekly's gossip columnist.

"Welll..." Harry said, deliberately coy. 

"Yes?!" screeched half a dozen reporters.

"He's so handsome," Harry said. "Incredibly intelligent. And…."

"Yes?!" screeched half a dozen reporters again.

"He says he loves me." 

Behind the reporters, someone "aawwed."

* * *

**To the Editor:  
This afternoon I was shopping for my nephew at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, when one of the shopkeepers was accosted by members of the press. He was badgered, harassed, kept from his duties. Even insulted. Nonetheless, he somehow found the wherewithal to be gracious to these numpties.**

**I speak, of course, of Harry Potter, who asked for privacy when he revealed that he was dating a nice young man. Why have we done the opposite? Shame on us!**

**I declare, Mr Potter deserves his space. This newspaper should allow him to have it!**

**Petra Smythwink  
Snarfwell on Timsley**

* * *

"Thank you for agreeing to this interview!"

"You're welcome, Chiara. I felt it was time to finally get out ahead of this story. Since I revealed that I have a wonderful new boyfriend, the demands for access to my intimate thoughts and private experiences have been overwhelming. My sweetheart and I thought an interview with a publication with a stellar reputation, like yours, would help us regain some control over our lives."

"Witch Weekly is honoured, Mr Potter, I assure you." Chiara smiled and Harry tried to relax. He'd called them himself. This was all part of his larger plan.

* * *

"Without revealing anything you don't wish to share, what can you tell me about what life is like for you, now you are so happily coupled?"

"What I really want people to know, Chiara, is how happy he and I are. Before he and I connected romantically, my life was honestly pretty great. I don't think it would be possible for me to love any job more than I love working with George Weasley at Wheezes. Bringing levity and fun into the world is exactly what I needed after…."

"Your unusual childhood?"

Harry laughs out loud, then smiles warmly. "Exactly."

* * *

"I've a wonderful home, a gift from my late godfather. I've some of the funniest, kindest, most loving friends in the world. George's family has completely adopted me, and my godson's mother, Andromeda Tonks, allows me to spend hours every week with my godson. I've been blessed, Chiara. I feel incredibly lucky to have this life."

"So you weren't lonely?"

"I…" Mr Potter looks wistful for a moment, choosing words thoughtfully.

"It's not that I didn't want a sweetheart. But I didn't need one to be happy. And then…."

"Him?"

"Yes. Him."

Harry Potter's blushing smile lights up the room.

* * *

"Mirchelle! Did you read the Harry Potter interview yet?"

"Pfft, like I'd miss it, Peony! I was at the newsstand before they arrived!"

"Me, too!"

"I had no intentions of trusting _that_ issue to owl delivery. I think I saw you at the newsstand that morning, actually! Five or six people ahead of me in the queue!"

Peony laughed. "Could've been, luv! I'd've missed a hippogryph stomping my left foot that morning! I wasn't good for nothing until I'd read the whole thing through about four times!"

Mirchelle sighed happily. "Isn't it just the most romantic thing ever?"

* * *

"It's lovely to see you, Bertha."

"Thank you for inviting me, Hilda. I can't remember when we last lunched."

"Bertha, at our age, I'm lucky to remember anything." They laughed as the waiter refilled their teapot.

"Been keeping ahead with celebrity gossip, though?"

"You know it. I've read that Potter interview a dozen times. I can't get enough of that sweet boy!"

"It's criminal how the papers hound him. I like to keep to the things he agrees to, myself. Feels more civilized."

"Certainly. I hope when he marries that nice boy they'll willingly release some photos, don't you?"

"Quite!"

* * *

"Tarka! S'that Potter?"

"Merlin's arse, Enzo! Yeah! But who's the bird?"

"Shitballs, that's Narcissa fuckin' Malfoy. What the fuck?"

"I thought Potter said in all those interviews n'shit his new fuckbuddy's a bloke."

Enzo glared at Tarka. "Fuckbuddy? S'that right?"

Tarka blushed. "You know what I mean. Fine. _Boyfriend_."

"Damn right," Enzo said firmly. Then his face crinkled in confusion. "Don't that seem strange to you, though? Harry Potter and _her_ walking down Diagon?"

They watched them walk away, heads together, Mrs Malfoy leaning lightly on Harry Potter's arm.

"Fuck if I know," Tarka admitted. "But she sure is pretty."

* * *

"Chiara, I hate thinking of anyone as my enemy! The wizarding world has been incredibly welcoming. People have been so kind. But it's hard to explain the value of privacy to those who already have it. Sometimes I think I would give everything I own to be anonymous again."

While Mr Potter drifts into silence, this reporter remembers reading multiple interviews wherein Mr Potter explained the role his friends, the Weasley family, the DA, Dumbledore himself, the Order, and so many others played in winning the war. 

"How do the two of you manage constantly being alone? Is it isolating?"

* * *

"When we're alone, in my house, for example, it can be a little isolating, but…" Mr Potter's face lights as if from within. 

"He takes care of me, Chiara. He's fun. We watch telly. We play silly games, like Exploding Snap. He's trying to teach me to play chess, but I'm honestly terrible at it, so far." 

At this admission, Mr Potter's smile is both self-deprecating and suffused with love. This reporter is forced to take a moment to regroup.

"As for me, I'm teaching him to cook, which is a lot of fun, I hope for him as well."

* * *

"What could you two do with anonymity?"

"If we could go outside together, be left alone... if we could walk around Hogsmeade or Diagon holding hands, doing really normal things, you know? Like shop, have an ice cream, eat at a restaurant… I think it would be good for us. I know it would be really good for _me_."

Mr Potter pauses.

"I know people care about me, want to thank me. I'm grateful for the love. But I feel like I'm in a phase of my life where that could, er, best be expressed by, letting me be normal?"

* * *

Dawn found Harry reluctantly waking in Draco's arms. "Ugh," he mumbled into Draco's naked chest. "We forgot to close your damn curtains."

"Sssh," Draco murmured. "Too early." He picked up his wand from the bedside table to blindly swish it at the curtains, which slammed themselves shut. The room darkened and both men sighed their relief.

"I do need to get up, though," Draco said, sounding exhausted. "So much to brew today."

"Not yet, surely?" Harry asked. He rubbed his face into Draco's chest again, loving the slight swell of Draco's pectorals, the fuzz of his barely visible blond fur.

* * *

"I would need a good excuse to postpone getting to work," Draco said, snuggling down and smiling.

Harry slowly petted Draco's hip and winked.

"Not that kind of excuse," Draco said, but he didn't move away. 

"What sort, then? Use small words," Harry joked. "I'm a man of action."

Draco frowned a bit, and put a hand on Harry's, over his hip. "I think we should talk next steps, if you're amenable?"

Harry nodded once, slow. "Well, ok. But… now?"

"We've been putting this off," Draco said, and he ducked his head under Harry's chin and gave a little sigh.

* * *

"We have," Harry agreed. "All right then. How d'you think our media campaign's going? No-one says anything revealing in front of me."

Draco nodded. "But they say all manner of things in front of Blaise and Pansy."

"Have you told them, then?" Harry looked surprised, but not upset.

"Goodness, no!" Draco said. "I would never do that before discussing it with you."

"Do you think it's time?"

"To tell my best friends?" Draco turned onto his back. "Probably? I can admit, I'm nervous."

"Oh?" Harry asked, sounding mild.

"What if they're angry I've kept this from them all this time?"

* * *

Harry hummed thoughtfully before answering. "They won't be bothered your new beau is… me?"

Draco's tiny flinch gave him away.

"It's all right," Harry said. "I understand. Telling Hermione and the Weasleys was scary, but…."

"That's different, surely? Since George knew from the first moment?"

"Even before you did," Harry joked.

"The important thing," Draco said, "is I want to tell them, but I would like your help."

"Why don't you and your Mum invite them both over for dinner, and I'll join you once they're seated?"

"You really are a man of action," Draco said, bravely trying to smile.

* * *

"Once we've told Blaise and Pansy," Harry continued, determined to get all of this (at the very least) aired this morning, "how should we tell the rest of the world?"

At this, Draco seemed marginally more confident. "Have you been invited to the Ministry's Equinox Ball? It is a huge to-do, always on the 20th of March."

"Probably?" Harry screwed up his face in thought. "I never go to those things, so I don't usually pay a lot of attention to the invitations."

"If you have, perhaps we could attend, together?"

"Well," Harry grinned. "Draco Malfoy, man of action, yourself!"

* * *

"That's only a month away," Harry said gently, petting Draco's shoulder. "You think the world'll be ready for us by then?"

"All the actions you have taken seem to be having their desired effect," Draco said, quiet but confident. "Pansy and Blaise had no idea they were speaking to the man in question when they came to tea the other afternoon, but from everything they said, from what Mum has heard from friends, I think, yes. The world might even be ready for us now. But with a month's notice…"

"I can do even more to prepare."

They both smiled.

* * *

Draco donated money to charity. Harry made sure his anonymity didn't well hold.

Harry went out walking alone. Narcissa made sure someone photographed him looking lonely. That edition of The Prophet sold out quite quickly.

George started letting it be known, discreetly at first, that Draco Malfoy had invented the potions base for three of Wheezes most popular products. 

And Harry formally agreed to attend the Ministry's Equinox Ball with "one guest."

If their crew had anything to say about it, the world would be more than "tolerant," "accepting," or even "ready" at their debut. 

Harry was aiming for joyous.

* * *

Narcissa's peach silk robes flowed to the floor in a fluid sheet. The Witch Weekly publisher at her table was clearly trying not to stare as Narcissa worked to convince her to take a large risk.

 _How do I fool her,_ Pametha thought, _into thinking I'm not completely intimidated?_

"I need a name," Pametha said, steely.

"Not yet," Narcissa chided. "But the man my son will take to the Equinox Ball is, I assure you, someone you will wish you had exclusive rights to photograph beforehand, if you are foolish enough not to accept my incredibly generous terms."

* * *

"I can neither confirm nor deny any name," Narcissa continued, while she — with one motherly glance — guilted Pametha into sipping tea. 

"But I know you are as aware as any publisher of who is talking about a new beau he has hidden away."

Pametha had never seen such pale eyebrows carry such significance.

"You imply Harry Potter," Pametha said, silently replacing her teacup in her saucer.

Narcissa didn't so much as blink. "Do I?" she said, and sipped her tea.

Pametha, on the other hand, surreptitiously spelled a cooling flow toward her own hairline.

"I imply no one," Narcissa declared. 

* * *

"But speaking of Mr Potter, how do you think the _Prophet_ will handle his big reveal?"

"They shall botch it," Pametha said, certain. 

"How do you think Mr Potter will feel about _that_?" Narcissa asked lightly, sounding merely curious. She offered Pametha no chance to answer. 

"Would it not be wonderful to be the sole large-circulation publication, complete with color photos (unlike the Quibbler on both counts) that Harry Potter and his beloved feel positive about? The way Potter speaks in the press, I think he wants to propose. Someone will want an exclusive to publish the weddings photos, mm?"

* * *

Harry stepped into the Manor with Draco and smiled when he saw Narcissa. 

"How did your crucial meeting with Witch Weekly go?"

She turned the full force of her smile upon him, and he felt himself warm with happiness. Draco's mother _approved_ of them. 

Even after years of considering the fiercely loving, profoundly accepting Molly and Arthur as his true parents, Harry was still hurting somewhere deep inside, courtesy of Vernon and Petunia. But this brilliant woman was going to be his mother-in-law, and she was _thrilled_ about it. That cold kernel got slightly smaller every time she showed him.

* * *

"It went perfectly to plan," Narcissa said, voice prim but mouth wide in a satisfied grin Harry rarely saw.

"They agreed?"

"To everything!" Narcissa said, and the three simply smiled joyfully at one another for a long, pleased moment. "The crucial part," Narcissa continued, "was all the work you two have been doing all this time. I never so much as whispered your name, Harry. I did not have to. She knew I meant you. Enough to take the risk."

"So that super-famous photographer will be here the day of the Ball?"

"The ridiculously expensive one from Tel Aviv? Exactly!"

* * *

After Witch Weekly got on board, everything went easily. The caution they took to keep their imminent debut under wraps felt strange, but with encrypted portkeys, cash payments, top-notch lawyers and non-disclosure agreements at hand, not even heading to Milan for fittings was all that hard to hide.

In addition to clothes, haircuts, and a new, relentless skin-care regimen that made Harry fidgety — Harry, Draco and their families kept up everything else they had been doing. A donation here, a bit of discreet press there….

The Equinox Ball was fast approaching, and so far, everything was going perfectly to plan.

* * *

The day of the Equinox Ball. Harry was ready.

Ready, that is, for this whole stupid plan to be _over_. He was tired of planning and sneaking and concocting. He was tired of masterminding, contriving and so freaking _done_ with intrigue. 

But tonight, they would Floo to a dazzling venue in the center of his favourite city, with a photographer in tow, yes, but still. 

They would dance together. They would drink champagne. 

People would stop shoving women and men at him, because the most intelligent, beautiful, loving, thoughtful man in England would be his. Publicly. 

Harry was so ready.

* * *

They slept in, waking upon early afternoon. They ate well, then bathed (separately) scrupulously. Harry carefully followed the instructions Draco had written. So many potions!

At 3pm, Ori Yafet — the photographer Narcissa demanded — arrived. Harry and Draco entered the parlour in their finery to find him setting up lights and other equipment. Pametha was also there.

"I thought you would stay at your office in the city," Narcissa said, chastising gently.

"I had to know," Pametha said. Harry saw her eyes shine. Her expensive risk was paying off. This special edition would sell out quickly. Maybe later… a wedding issue?

* * *

Yafet seemingly took a thousand photos. Indoors, outdoors, standing, sitting, holding hands, in the garden, eyes shining as they looked at one another with love. Several with Narcissa, too. Then at 5pm, Pametha vanished back to London with everything he'd done so far. 

She would shepherd a special edition of Witch Weekly into being, and it would appear on newsstands at 9pm exactly — just as Harry and Draco arrived at the Equinox Ball. 

The entire world would be treated to the news of their relationship at the exact same moment, whether they were at the Ball, or not. Narcissa's demand.

* * *

The Ball wasn't Harry's 'thing,' but Draco's delight at being there, and the delight with which they were (not quite universally) received, made up for it. They danced and socialized and everywhere they went, Yafet and his camera followed.

At 11pm they stood on a balcony, their spectacular view of London and the Thames ignored in favour of gazing fondly at one another.

Yafet followed, but let them close the balcony's panelled glass doors. He snapped away nonetheless, his camera shutter nearly inaudible through the barrier.

"I love you," Harry said, kissing Draco's hand.

Yafet illuminated them with his flash.

* * *

"I know we worked hard to get him here," Draco confessed, a whisper into Harry's ear, "but I am so tired of being photographed."

"Yeah," Harry said, facing the city so Yafet couldn't catch their lips with his camera. "When did your Mum say was the earliest we could escape?"

Draco looked up, trying to remember. "I think she said we should aim for midnight, but that leaving half an hour beforehand wouldn't be so bad. No earlier though."

"That's what I remember, too, yeah," Harry said, and put his arm around his lover, pulling him even a bit closer.

* * *

Ten short minutes on that tiny, almost private balcony overlooking London seemed the outside of what they could get away with, but then they were finally making the rounds to say goodbye, so they bore the loss of that false privacy with grace.

Yafet photographed their every gracious goodbye. The Minister, an Ambassador, a Wizengamot Justice, the Supreme Mugwump, the Hogwarts Headmistress. Every dignitary and hanger-on needed to be smiled at and handshook and given their chance to bestow a blessing upon this newly exposed and vulnerable undertaking. 

It was only after they left the main ballroom that it happened.

* * *

ClickClickClick went Ori Yafet's shutter.

"Oi, Harry!" yelled an unfamilar man, oddly dressed.

"Stop!" yelled an observant Auror, mostly unheard among the muddling, dissipating crowd.

ClickClickClick recorded Yafet's camera shutter, ignored by everyone else. The chaos of tired people in finery churned away, toward the exits. 

The unfamiliar man, oddly dressed, surged erratically toward Harry and Draco. "Harry!" he yelled, a package — lumpy and small — cradled in his arms.

"Harry!" Draco cried; terrified. He jumped between, threw himself on top of, lay his whole body over: protecting.

Aurors swarmed. The unfamiliar man was yanked away, wailing.

ClickClickClick went Yafet's shutter.

* * *

By the time the Aurors had the truth all sorted, no one cared about the truth. But it was all there, in Yafet's photographs.

"Draco saved Harry!" screamed the headlines.

"Potter's new beloved offers own life to save Hero!"

Witch Weekly was the first to offer the real story, a week later, when it had finally been carefully unravelled. But the _Daily Prophet_ had filled all the available bandwidth already. It was useless.

Still, they tried. "'Dangerous Man' mere autograph-seeker," they said. 

"Sylvester Gesson offers abject apology to Potter, Malfoy," they tried.

"Harry signs Gesson's Memorabilia," they said. "Photos inside!"

* * *

A week after the Equinox Ball, Draco Malfoy was the most popular wizard in Britain. He could not leave home without being swarmed by grateful admirers.

He and Harry set their wedding for the second Sunday in June. He and Harry were ecstatically happy. Narcissa and Molly were asked to do most of the planning, since Harry and Draco both worked full time. 

Still. Draco had to know. "Did you do this?" he asked his mother, one sunny morning after Harry left for Wheezes.

"I am sure I have no idea what you mean," Narcissa said dismissively, turning the page.

* * *

Draco put one hand upon his mother's. She folded the newspaper. They looked at one another over a long, heavy moment.

"I am serious," Draco finally said. "Did you set up Gesson? What if he had been hurt? Worse, what if he had not simply been an innocent fan with a Golden Snitch and three books he hoped Harry would sign?"

" _I am **quite sure** I have no idea_ what you mean," Narcissa said yet again.

\- - . . . - -

Witch Weekly published their special Potter and Malfoy Romantic Wedding Edition that June. Yafet photographed. It sold out seven times before they stopped reprinting.

* * *

Fin


End file.
